The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(77)

No monster, but two murderers! Michel Giroud and the villager who had shot the Comte…

Peering through the rain-spattered windshield, he wondered about Michel Giroud. Had he already sent his Jaguar crashing into some rocky canyon? Or was he sitting in the car at this moment, knife in his hand? He was religious, so he would be praying for his immortal soul. Poor bastard…

Blanche Carmet would be waiting for him.

But there was an empty drawer at the morgue. Also waiting.

Giroud had established alibis both times with Blanche—when Annie Deffous and Lisette Jarlaud were murdered. He had come to Blanche afterward and spent several hours with her.

Had told her that he would be with her tonight. After killing Jenny Tendrell, he would have gone straight to Blanche. Another alibi…

“Three alibis are two too many!” he muttered. That was the final piece of information that had convinced him Giroud was the killer.

The first—that Giroud came from Toulon—had been given to him by Claude, the afternoon he arrived at the Auberge, but he hadn’t remembered that until tonight.

He reduced speed as he reached the Auberge, and Fric-Frac at once roused and sat up.

Turning off the avenue, he glimpsed the ghost of another restaurant through the rain. The old entrance, with his flower garden in front…

“Chez Damiot!” Whispering the name as he drove past the row of new windows. The dining room was dark.

Both garage doors stood open, and the space where the Jaguar had always been parked was empty. He eased the Peugeot into the free space, next to Aurore’s station wagon, and switched off his headlights.

Getting out of the car, he saw that Aurore’s suite above the kitchen was lighted. “Come, Madame la Duchesse!”

Fric-Frac jumped out.

“Wait here! I’ll carry you.” As he locked the car, a reflected glow of light flooded into the garage. Turning quickly, he saw that the kitchen door had been opened.

Aurore was standing there, silhouetted against the light. “I was waiting for you!”

At the sound of her voice, Fric-Frac scampered across the wet tarmac and bounded up the kitchen steps.

Damiot hurried after the dog, through the driving rain, into Chez Damiot.